


that's what it's made for

by tagteamme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Established Relationship, Lap dancing, Lingerie, M/M, Mechanic Shiro, but his real job is being Keith's #1 groupie, mutual stress relief, stripper keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 11:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14692812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tagteamme/pseuds/tagteamme
Summary: Keith's waiting for his ride home. His ride's waiting for him at the bar.





	that's what it's made for

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 50% indulgent stress relief and 50% of me wanting a really specific type of stripper AU so here we are. Here we are.
> 
> Title from the Usher song of the same name!

Keith picks his phone up from the locker room bench, checking once again how many minutes it’s been since he's last heard from his ride home. His ride had texted him earlier, letting him know he'd be there in fifteen. It's been twenty minutes and Keith's getting restless. He took off early from his shift for the express purpose of getting home in time to watch an international fight on television and vegetate on the couch. He still ran late, and this delay on top of that is making Keith just a little antsy.

There were one too many bachelorette parties at the club today, and one too many who wanted to pay for both Keith  _ and _ Lance to keep them company. It's a pain in the ass when Keith has to work with Lance, because Lance turns everything into a contest to see who gets the most in tips — which is doubly annoying because it activates the secret competitive streak that runs a mile wide in Keith. He won today, but not by enough; if one of the party members hadn't been drunk enough to roll a fifty and tuck it behind Keith's ear, he's sure he would have lost. That thought irks him a lot.

Almost as much as the thought that his ride might have forgotten to get Keith. Keith knows his ride is okay, because he's sent him a “ _ WHERE ARE YOU _ ” message and it says it's been read three minutes ago. Unfortunately, that’s the only indication Keith’s received that his ride’s checking his phone. He’s already checked the backlot for the familiar black pickup, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

Keith gives it five more minutes before he figures that he has time to go see if he can weasel one more dance out of a customer. If his ride comes, he can wait for Keith. He's exhausted but knows he'll thoroughly enjoy Lance's face when he sees Keith tipping out at the bar  _ again _ . It won’t be too difficult either— Keith's still in the last outfit he wore on the floor because he tossed his duffel bag a little too hard into his locker, cracking a bottle and soaking his clothes through with purple Gatorade.

Every time a new movie about male strippers comes out, Keith’s routines have to get significantly more athletic but his wardrobe choices become exponentially easier. All he needs to do is mimic the more popular outfits, and they never get too complicated. Today was particularly easy; he’s just had to wear a greased up white tank top and soft, worn out work jeans. He's got a kerchief hanging out his back pocket and motorcycle gloves on, completing the roguish boy next door look that gets eaten up on the days the club has their Ladies’ Night Out specials. Lance calls it pedestrian but Keith ignores him because Lance is just mad that their last bachelorette party asked Keith to be the one lifting the bride-to-be up in the air for the group photo. 

It’s been a good mix of people tonight, and Keith racks his brain to remember if he saw anyone that looks like they were looking at him too longingly while he was with other clients. There's one guy that swings by semi regularly with a large wad of cash, but Keith saw him a few hours ago and hasn’t gotten a chance to approach him yet. If the guy’s still out there, Keith’s going to see if he’s got any more money he’d like to blow.

He pulls his hair back into a ponytail and musses up his bangs as he leaves the locker room. He makes his way down the narrow hallway, formulating a game plan as the slow thud of the music gently rattles through the air. He enters the main floor, and starts to scan.

Upon the initial glance, it looks dry; everyone who wants someone has someone, including the man who clearly hasn’t burned through all his cash yet. Keith can't immediately find a place for him to slide in yet, so he makes a beeline towards the bar. It's the middle of the week but the counter is still busy, and will be busy until the end of the very last minute that the club’s liquor license allows it to be open till. Matt and Allura are both working the bar, Matt firing out drinks at an admirable rate while Allura seems nestled in a conversation with someone.

Keith takes a stool at the counter and tries to catch the attention of either of them. Matt is too busy with a group of cheering girls waving bills in front of his face and Allura’s still talking. Keith leans over to see who’d be interesting enough to rope the manager into a conversation while there were other customers to be served, and gets a smile and a friendly wave in return.

Now he knows why his ride is late. 

Allura sees that they’ve caught each other’s eyes, winks at his ride before picking up a glass and shuffling on to a customer. Keith leans back on the stool and contemplates calling a cab home just to be petty. He also wants to know why exactly his ride’s late. Most of all, he wants a drink, so he stays put at his bar and finally catches Matt’s eye. He doesn’t have to say anything, just hold up a finger, and Matt drops down a glass of scotch in front of Keith. Keith slides him a twenty, and Matt slides it back.

“It’s taken care for,” He winks, and Keith doesn’t have to ask by whom. He downs the drink like a shot, choking a little on the burn of the well-aged alcohol. By the time he’s trying to shake the last drops onto his tongue, Keith can feel a pair of eyes bore into the back of his head. It’s not hard to sense who it is, and Keith schools his face into the flattest expression possible before he turns around.

“You're in my favourite seat,” The man in front of him says. The music's not too loud, so Keith picks up the drawl in the words and continues to look unimpressed.

“I  _ am  _ your favourite seat,” He grumbles back, and Shiro laughs as he approaches Keith. Shiro keeps his hands in his pockets as he draws nearer, but smiles widely.

“Sorry I’m late,” Shiro says, having the decency to sound mildly apologetic. “I saw your message and tried to text you but my phone’s not getting any signal.”

It’s not a complete lie because the outgoing reception in the club isn’t the best, but Shiro knows he can easily knock on the back door and get let in. He knows where the locker rooms are, and he knows the number for the shitty cordless that sits near the door. Shiro knows a lot of things, and by the look he’s giving Keith right now, he seems to have decided to forget all of them.

“Ready to go home?” Keith asks and Shiro shrugs, running a hand through the white tuft of hair. He sees the dot on the inside of Shiro’s wrist and narrows his eyes. “Or did you pay cover?”

“It's been a really long day,” Shiro says contemplatively. “I didn’t leave work till you texted me. I wanted to see if you wanted to unwind first.”

Keith's not stupid. He knows what Shiro's hinting at, just like Shiro knew what it meant when Keith had casually said five times within the span of one breakfast that he was thinking about getting a red paint job for his motorcycle. And Keith fulfills it sometimes, if there's a free private room. He’d fulfil it now too, because Shiro left for his shop early in the morning today. But tonight's been busy, and there's no room free unless they're paying full price. 

“I'm off the clock, ” Keith says, and Shiro hums. “Let’s go home.”

“I was hoping to see my favourite dancer,” Shiro says and Keith snorts. 

“Hope he's here today,” He replies, and the corners of Shiro’s mouth lift up. 

“Haven't seen him yet,” Shiro winks, and Keith rolls his eyes. “Which is sad, because I've got a little bit of cash and a lot of stress to burn."

Shiro opens his jacket to slide something halfway out of an inner pocket like a man selling counterfeit goods. The gold clip holding cash glints in the minimal light of the bar, and Keith can make out the small details of the Medusa head.

“Impressive,” Keith says smoothly. “But I can't swing you a room today. It's all booked if you're not paying.”

“I just want a dance, baby, “ Shiro replies, and the ease at which he says it starts to stoke Keith's interest. 

Keith's tempted to slip back in the persona he was wearing for the night, but Shiro digs out a phone. 

“I'll call you a cab home,” Shiro says a little too earnestly, a little too sweet. “I don't want to bother you if you're off work. I'll just find someone else.”

Keith knows Shiro won't. Won’t send Keith home by himself, won’t stick around if Keith truly wants them to leave, won’t enlist someone else’s services. Shiro doesn't partake in general, says it's not his scene and he'll only come in if his favourite dancer is working. He said that when he first visited Keith at work after they started dating, and it still holds true five years later. Shiro likes to watch Keith work, just as much as Keith likes to see Shiro bent under the hood of a car. Keith's confident that if Shiro actually ever did try someone else, no one would satisfy the nooks and crannies of his interest like Keith does.

And yet, Shiro's words poke at the small pool of possessiveness within Keith. It's involuntary and Shiro knows it exists, knows exactly what effect his words have on Keith. He also knows that if he looks tired enough behind his smile, Keith’s going to take pity on him and want to take care of him.

“Stay here,” Keith says, and Shiro poorly conceals a smug look. “Don't move. I'll be back in five and I'll give you a dance. Don't look at me like that.”

‘Like what?” Shiro asks innocently, and Keith gives him a flat look before stalking away, muttering under his breath.

 

* * *

 

Shiro rents a champagne room. He always does when he comes in to Keith’s work, always under the guise of having done it unintentionally.

“They didn’t have any other rooms left,” Shiro says innocently from where he’s sitting on the white sofa. The room has deep red and purple lighting, a white shag on the floor, and music that’s slower and more sensual than the stuff playing outside. There’s a small bar in the corner, but Shiro’s opted for it to be only the two of them in there. 

“It’s your dollar, boss,” Keith replies with just the right blend of easiness and flippancy from where he’s standing in front of Shiro. He slides a finger under Shiro’s chin and tips it up, giving him an inquisitive look. “What do we want today?”

“A dance,” Shiro says immediately, like he’s been thinking about it all day. Sometimes he does, and sometimes Keith will humor him with a private show at home. Sometimes Shiro will show up at the club as a paying customer, dutifully spending a lot of cash even though Keith’s never paid for anything at Shiro’s garage since they started dating. He says it’s money he’d want to spend on Keith anyways and that he likes watching a cloud of bills float around him. Keith finds himself hard-pressed to argue with that.

“You wanna take charge?” Keith asks, watching Shiro’s eyes drop down to his midsection. He hooks a thumb in the front of Keith’s jeans and pulls so that Keith’s standing even further in his space.

“Is that my shirt?” Shiro asks lowly, reaching up to push up at the white fabric of Keith’s tank. 

“I’m supposed to be a mechanic today,” Keith runs a hand through Shiro’s bangs, scratching the scalp lightly. “Thought I’d go for authenticity.”

“It’s nice,” Shiro says, and slips a hand underneath the material. It’s warm and large against Keith’s stomach and Keith can sense Shiro feeling out the ridges of his muscles. He bends down to capture Shiro in a soft kiss that’s short-lived before Shiro presses a finger against Keith’s lips and pushes him back. 

“A dance,” Shiro replies. “Whatever you wanna do, baby. I just want to watch you move.”

Keith finds it hard to deny Shiro, even teasingly so. He’s all square jaw and piercing eyes under the light, all Keith’s both in and out of this room, and any annoyance Keith’s felt through the day starts to melt away. The song rumbling through the room is drifting through it’s final chorus and Keith decides to move right as the notes melt into a new song, falling into the moment.

He starts slow under Shiro’s predatory gaze, approaching Shiro as he start to sway to the music. Keith started this job being a shitty dancer with a decent face, but quickly learned he could use the athleticism he had from years of martial arts to more than make up for his lack of inherent sexiness. 

Keith’s a lot better at now at looking both powerful, sure, and enticing in one go. He pushes his bangs off his face as he slinks towards Shiro, raises his eyebrows and bites his lower lip. 

Keith’s good at what he does because he can quickly pick up on what his customers like. He knew what Shiro would enjoy around ten seconds into the first lap dance he had given him. He’s glad he had done it in the old studio apartment he used to live in and not the club, because Shiro had interrupted him midway to pick him up and carry him to the bed, throwing him on to it with an urgency. It’s a good memory. 

Since then, Shiro’s taste has slightly evolved. It all centres around Keith, the way Keith moves, the way he looks. Keith knows that Shiro likes to see his legs, likes to see the flex of his shoulders, the hard lines of the body he works so hard to maintain. He plucks the hemline of his tank, lifts it up to show off skin and takes the cloth between his teeth. He winks, gives an exaggerated body roll in Shiro’s direction, and Shiro grins as he flicks a couple of bills at Keith.

The shirt has to go first. Keith pulls the tank off in one smooth move, and loops it around Shiro’s neck, using it as leverage to pull Shiro forward. He rolls his hips in Shiro’s face in time with the heavy thud of the bass, and Shiro leans forward to bite at the button of his jeans. Keith lifts a knee and leans forward, wedging in between Shiro’s legs so that Shiro can attempt to undo Keith’s jeans with his teeth. Keith glances down with an amused look, and right as Shiro looks like he has it, he rocks back onto the foot he has planted on the floor. 

Keith drops his shirt to the ground but Shiro still follows forward, making a sound of protest as Keith pushes him gently back. It dies a weak death when Keith digs his thumbs in both his underwear and his jeans and tugs down just enough to tease Shiro with the sight as he continues to move.

Shiro looks  _ so _ good like this, sprawled on a couch with as he watches Keith in a heated, hypnotic haze. His black shirt sits snug across his body, and his legs are spread in a way that beckons Keith to come between them. Keith wants to keep winding up Shiro till Shiro’s left dizzy, even if Keith will inadvertently follow close behind. He decides it’s time to shift onto Shiro’s lap. 

Keith swings a leg over, straddling Shiro and rolling his hips, leaving the slightest amount of space in between them. It’s paper thin, enough to tease Shiro, enough for him to feel the ghost of the touch but no pressure. Shiro makes to grab Keith’s waist, and Keith lets him have control for a few beats, lets him close the distance in between their bodies. He watches as Shiro closes his eyes at the friction, watches him suck his lower lip in as he increases his grip. Shiro looks beautiful like this, but Keith’s sure he can get him looking even better. 

“Open your eyes,” He says into Shiro’s ear. “You said you want to watch me, right?”

Shiro obeys, cracking open his eyes just as Keith starts bending back in his lap. Shiro automatically snakes a hand underneath Keith to support him, rubbing a thumb into Keith’s lower back. Keith starts a trail from his lower abdomen with his hands, dragging his fingers upwards. He does it slow, makes sure he looks at Shiro through half-lidded eyes, squirms slightly in his lap to get more comfortable.

Keith makes it to his chest and as the bridge of the song starts, he closes his eyes and arches in Shiro’s arms. He pinches and rolls and plays with himself a little before dropping back down. Keith can’t move as easily in this position but knows he’s giving Shiro a good show, knows he’s reminding him of how it’s like between the sheets. 

It’s confirmed when he feels the slide of paper across his torso, the bills sliding off and falling onto the plush carpet. He licks his lips and squeezes his fingers, mouth dropping open at the sparks. The next few bills get pushed all the way up to his neck before a rough hand wraps around his throat. The papers crinkle as Shiro squeezes lightly; Keith grins in return and moves one of his hands to grab Shiro’s wrist.

Shiro needs no guidance. He skates his hand down as Keith arches again, slow and deliberate. He cups one of the hands Keith has on his chest before pushing it away so that he can touch Keith. Keith can feel the callouses rest against the skin around where he’s sensitive as Shiro pushes a thumb down and flicks. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from making any noise.

He knows this is his work place, knows there’s a somewhat followed rule about not engaging in any extras in the private rooms. Keith at least follows it, and he knows that he prides himself in staying professional. Shiro understands this, respects this, goes only as far as Keith lets him.

But last month, Keith had dropped by with his car at the garage Shiro runs. It had a problem that could be easily solved in their own garage at home, one that Keith could  _ easily  _ fix himself because he knew his way around more than one vehicle. Shiro had rolled his eyes but let Keith stay; after the shop had closed for the day and everyone had been sent home, Shiro bent Keith over the hood of his car and had fucked him till Keith couldn’t breath anymore.

So, Keith thinks he can let himself cut loose a little. He grabs Shiro’s wrists and stills his movements before lifting himself back into an upright position.

“No hands,” Keith says, and Shiro pauses.”Not anymore.”

Shiro slowly removes his hands, spreading them on the back of the divan. He gives Keith a questioning look, but lifts up his clip of bills to pull a few out. Keith hums in satisfaction at the sight, loves it when Shiro looks this specific way— one who likes to blow the good money he makes recklessly. Specifically on Keith, because he rolls and tucks three bills in the waistband of Keith’s jeans, bills that look bigger than what Keith receives on average.

“Wanna see something?” Keith lowers his voice into a purr, feeling it rumble through his chest. “I wore it just for you.”

It’s not a lie. Keith had bought it for a themed night a few months ago and had deemed it too uncomfortable to wear for a shift again. He left Shiro at the bar to go throw it on because he knows it makes him look amazing waist down, makes his legs look chiseled and long in a way Shiro will deeply appreciate. 

He turns around in Shiro’s lap so that his back presses against a broad chest. He rests the back of his head against Shiro’s shoulder as he hooks an arm around the other side of Shiro’s head. He bears down on Shiro’s lap again, and can feel Shiro’s arms twitch as he resists the temptation to touch Keith. With his free hand, Keith pops open the button of his jeans while turning his head and mouthing at Shiro’s neck. He slides the jeans down his thighs just enough to reveal the black lace trim sitting snug across his hips. He feels more than hears Shiro’s sharp inhale, and lets out a content noise. 

Keith slides down, off Shiro’s lap and onto his knees. From there, he looks over his shoulder at Shiro and grins as he stands up slowly. He pulls at his jeans a little more, revealing more black fabric. He turns to face Shiro and takes a step back so that Shiro can get a full glance.

“What’s that?” Shiro asks, voice sounding slightly rough, slightly dazed. Shiro’s eyes track Keith’s fingers as he starts to pull down his jeans at an unhurried pace. Keith doesn’t answer. Instead, he watches Shiro’s mouth part as he steps out of his jeans completely and kicks them to the side.

Compared to what he normally wears on his stage performances, it’s a fairly safe get up; lace-trimmed briefs with garters that Keith’s too lazy to fasten, all black. Lingerie isn’t completely Keith’s thing, but he likes the way the underwear accentuates the curve of his lean but muscular thighs. It gets too uncomfortable to wear during long shifts and doesn’t have enough space to tuck in tips, but Keith left it in his locker, just incase the occasion would arise.

By the look on Shiro’s face, Keith knows he brought it out at the right time. He does a small turn on the spot, letting Shiro get a good look. He plucks at it, pretends he needs to adjust it, bends forward a little when he’s facing away from Shiro. When Keith’s satisfied that he’s been observed properly at all angles, he turns back around.

“Like it?” He asks, and Shiro’s eyes don’t raise up as he silently nods. “Want me to keep dancing?”

Under the red light, the intensity of Shiro’s gaze is magnified. He looks like he wants to devour Keith, watching silently as Keith stalks towards him. He doesn’t reply; instead, he fans out a few more bills in front of Keith. Keith takes them from him and throws them in the air, letting them flutter around them as he props up one leg on the couch cushion beside Shiro.

“Take this off,” He says, running a hand over the garter. Shiro reaches for it, but Keith smacks his hand away.

“Hey,” He admonishes, trying to hide his swallow at the dark look Shiro gives him. “What did I say about hands?”

Keith’s sure Shiro mutters a  _ yes sir _ under his breath as he removes his hand. He’s glad he never has to spell it out for Shiro, because Shiro leans forward and brushes his lips against Keith’s inner thighs. He licks his lips and presses a wet kiss against the hard muscle of Keith’s legs. Shiro ignores the thin strip of fabric completely, tracing a line with his tongue across Keith’s skin, following it forward till he’s reached the crease of Keith’s leg. He gives a teasing nip, gentle but firm enough for Keith to twitch. 

Shiro probably knows Keith’s about to grab his by his hair because he pulls back and takes the garter between his teeth. He looks up at Keith and maintains eye contact as he starts to tug it back. He pulls to Keith’s knee before he drops it with a soft  _ snap _ . Keith doesn’t have to tell Shiro to take care of the other one as he switches his feet because because Shiro makes quick work of it as well.

“Can I touch you now?” Shiro asks, the burning want evident in the rasp of his voice.

The music melts into something that drips slow and teasing, just like honey. Keith can see Shiro’s hands gripping his own thighs hard enough to make his knuckles white. Shiro is a man of excellent self-control, but he never bothers containing his hunger for Keith. Whenever he’s made to, it leaks through, corroding the great discipline with which he holds himself. If Keith tells Shiro he can touch him now, Shiro will put his hands all over Keith in a heartbeat. He’d probably grab Keith and yank him down onto his lap, grinding them together till they’re both gasping out each other’s names.

If he doesn’t let Shiro touch him till they’re home, if he makes Shiro crawl to the edge, Keith knows that when they get home, Shiro will pin him down and go at him till the only thing he remembers is how Shiro feels. It’ll leave Keith bruised and aching in the best way possible, and he won’t be able to move without the ghost of Shiro’s touch.

“Nope,” Keith says, long and drawn out. Shiro narrows his eyes, but Keith just gives him a lopsided grin as he looks down at him. “Hey, you wanted a dance. I’m giving you a little more.”

“I’ll show you a little more,” Shiro says, not bothering to hide the glint in his voice.

“If you can,” Keith says sweetly, leaning down to place a light kiss against Shiro’s forehead. Shiro tilts his head back and Keith ducks away just in time so that Shiro can’t kiss him properly. Shiro makes a low rumbling noise, and some of the hunger seeps into Keith as well. He sees Shiro’s shoulders go stiff, and a tense moment passes before Shiro sighs and relaxes.

“Have it your way,” Shiro says, and it sounds like he’s reining himself in as much as possible. “When we get home, I’ll have you mine.”

He follows his word with a kiss to the inside of Keith’s knee, and Keith feels his face start to go warm. He keeps his composure though, letting out a contemplative hum. Shiro starts pressing his mouth firm and open against Keith’s leg, drawing a trail up again. He reaches the swell of Keith’s inner thigh, and Shiro bites it hard enough for Keith to let out a soft noise. He soothes it with his tongue and starts to suck, making sure to leave a light bruise that blends in with the others.

“Shiro,” Keith says gently, but Shiro simply grunts in return.

“Busy,” he says, before he sucks another light mark in further up. He reaches the line of Keith’s underwear and licks a stripe over it, getting the cloth damp. Shiro angles his head so that he can tongue in through the hem, and the feel of Shiro’s wet tongue so  _ close _ has Keith’s heartbeat drowning out the rolling bass of the song.

Shiro moves his tongue out, and trails it over the cloth to where it’s abundantly clear that Keith’s hard and wanting. He kisses it, runs a tongue to trace the shape over the fabric.

“Is this okay?” Shiro asks and Keith nods furiously, feeling Shiro’s words over where he’s growing steadily hard. He’s starting to regret commanding Shiro to keep to himself; Keith craves the touch of the hands that have the couch cushions in a death grip.

Shiro mouths over the thin briefs, applying pressure and humming over the growing wetness. There's vibration and friction and Keith desperately wants to pull down the underwear so that he can guide himself into Shiro's mouth. He thinks about Shiro swallowing him down, thinks of Shiro taking him down till his nose hits skin, thinks of Shiro sliding wet fingers in between him. It makes Keith's toes curl involuntarily, and he lets out a soft grunt. 

The scene disintegrates around them and all Keith can think about is the heat that covers him and threatens to make him fall apart. He badly wants –  _ needs _ – Shiro to pull down the lace and take Keith in his mouth fully so that Keith can properly fuck into his face. The thought of it makes Keith bleed out some of his own control, and he finds himself gently rolling his hips forward. Shiro responds and reaches up to kiss Keith’s lower abdomen, before nosing gently at the skin.

“Wanna taste you,” Shiro says, and Keith can feel the timbre of his voice down to his core. “Just a little.”

He doesn’t wait for Keith to say anything; Shiro takes the elastic in between his teeth and pulls back. The relief that the space brings Keith is almost mind-numbing. It doesn’t last long though; Shiro comes close again, letting the band snap gently against Keith, briefs lowered enough so that only his head pokes out. Keith watches as Shiro licks his lips before he leans down and flattens his tongue against Keith. 

“Fu- _ uck _ ,” Keith swears and involuntarily arches forward. His underwear slides down further as Shiro uses the momentum to take him in further just the slightest amount. He wraps his lips around Keith and sucks, before letting go completely and drawing a circle at the top with the tip of his tongue. It’s excruciatingly slow and heady and Keith’s mind starts to swim. 

Keith tries to push forward, tries to ease more into Shiro’s mouth, but Shiro draws off him with a slick sound. He lowers his head and starts sucking Keith through the fabric again, and Keith says his name again in protest. Shiro looks up at Keith with a wicked grin, and gives one last playful swipe where Keith’s exposed. 

“Just a little,” Shiro repeats, before taking underwear between his teeth again and drawing it back up, covering up Keith. Keith curses again, and Shiro looks extremely self-satisfied with his work.

“Think I could make you come like this?” Shiro asks, kissing the junction of Keith’s thigh again. Keith knows he can,  _ Shiro _ knows he can, so Keith stays silent and focuses on not making his legs tremble. He just closes his eyes and exhales loudly through his nose, hears Shiro laugh at him as he goes back to giving Keith one of the most frustrating blowjobs he’s had in recent memory. 

Shiro applies pressure with his mouth everywhere he can, and Keith knows he’s coming close to a messy end. It’ll take care of Keith for now, but it won’t be enough to stop him from craving more and offering himself up to Shiro like a meal when they get home. There’s nothing Keith can do except for twist his fingers through Shiro’s hair and urge him on, get him to press harder against Keith and keep rubbing him through the cloth. Shiro half-moans Keith’s name and Keith looks down.

The sight of Shiro palming himself over his jeans does him in— Keith’s coming in his underwear and gripping onto Shiro like his life depends on it, biting down on his lip so that it muffles the loud groan that tears from his throat. He feels the fabric grow heavy and wet at the front, hears Shiro make satisfied noises as he encourages Keith with a “Yeah baby, just like that.”

Keith scrunches his eyes shut and tries to ride it out, tries to step down on the swelling feeling in his chest that Shiro always rouses within him. When he’s fully spent, Keith finally allows his leg to fold so that he can drop down onto Shiro’s lap. Shiro automatically circles his arms around Keith’s waist and draws him close. Keith swings his other leg up so that he can properly straddle him, and puts his remaining energy into kissing Shiro, deep and languid. Shiro slides his hand down the back of Keith’s briefs and squeezes his ass, pulling him in closer. It helps Keith ignore how uncomfortable the cooling damp patch of underwear feels against sensitive skin.

They finally break apart, and Keith tries to catch his breath. The exertion of the act catches up to him, piling up on top of the exhaustion from his shift, and he can feel his eyelids growing heavy. It’ll take them around twenty five minutes to get home, and Keith thinks he can sneak in a quick nap during the drive so that as soon as they get home, he can pin Shiro against the door. His burning desire to put his hands all over Shiro’s body will always beat out any tiredness Keith feels.

“I think we have only five minutes left in this room,” Shiro says, but doesn’t let go of Keith. “I can get us some more time, but I’d rather take you somewhere better.”

“Yeah?” Keith asks lazily, running a finger down Shiro’s torso and giving a toothy grin. “Sorry, but I just finished my last dance. I’m off the clock now.”

It’s a terrible joke, but it gets Shiro to snort and push up for a kiss again. Keith feels something poke against his leg, and he leans down to pick it up. It’s the money clip, completely empty, it’s contents strewn over the floor and tucked away on Keith’s person. He flips over the clip to see if it’s the one with their anniversary engraved on the back; it is, and Keith runs his thumb over the Roman numerals while Shiro kisses his neck.

“I missed my match,” Keith says finally, leaning back to look at Shiro. “And had to work overtime, thanks to you.”

“No way that I can make it up you?” Shiro smiles, looking pleased with himself. Keith picks up one of the bills that floated onto the couch cushion, and flicks it in Shiro’s face.

“Consider yourself forgiven,” He says, gently scraping fingers through the fuzz of Shiro’s undercut. The music’s still playing, and he’s glad he has his jeans to stuff himself and hide the fact that he got a little too into his dance. It’ll save him the trouble of getting clowned by Matt and Lance, but he figures it won’t be too long before they extrapolate what happens and rag him for it. “For now.”

**Author's Note:**

> i still believe that in canon, neither of them can dance well.
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://phaltu.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/tagteamme)!!


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